This morning the DO Cambodia team were taken to a province just 15 km
outside of Phnom Penh, to an area that is being built up but is serene at
the same time. Within this developing area is the plot of land that SFODA
has identified for its future premises. That is at least, the goal,

I will remind readers that SFODA houses 53 orphaned or abandoned children,
from newborns to young adults. They have recently been evicted from one
property, but managed to secure another rental arrangement close by. This
is a temporary measure and it is likely that they will have to move again
in two years' time.

Sensibly, they now are looking for land to build a
secure home that will belong to the organisation, and at around 60K for a
parcel of land measuring 20 x 45 metes, the price is still relatively
affordable, but they are going to need all the help they can get and we,
perhaps together with other NGOs, hope to be a very active part of their
dream.

Ironically perhaps, adjacent to the plot of land is a massive estate
belonging to an ex-government official. By massive, I mean it's bigger
than San Anton Gardens, with tennis courts, swimming pools and a water
reservoir to feed the banana crops. We are hoping to build an orphanage
for the poor next door. Such are the ironies and contradictions of
Cambodia.

I always felt that Cambodia was a country of opposing personalities.
Whether it's bright sunshine or heavy monsoon cloud, sadness or great joy,
abject poverty or vast riches, they're all walking hand-in-hand here in
Cambodia, but never was it more obvious than last night when this
fascinating country showed us yet another facet that we never even knew
existed.

We thought we'd celebrate Katherine's birthday with a western meal at a
good restaurant so a quick search on Tripadvisor took us to a beautiful
place called Deco. The meal was delicious and inexpensive by Maltese
standards, and the atmosphere was divine.

After a dessert of deep fried ice creams we thought we'd like to go for a spot of karaoke after dinner.

We were looking for some Cambodian corner bar with a large screen, a
microphone and a good selection of Abba songs for us to massacre.
Tripadvisor suggested a place called Club 88 which, if course, our tuk-tuk
drivers had never heard of, so we got lost within the back streets by the
Mekong river.

The side roads of Phnom Penh are not well lit at all, and in the shadows
we could see ageless girls standing under trees and plying their trade
while their pimp smoked Marlboro in an air-conditioned Hummer at the
corner. And in between one tree and another:children. Too many children.
Always children.

As we drove towards the lights of a main road we recognized Jihai, a
six-year old boy who comes to LRDE very day for a meal. His home is a
deckchair on a pavement which he seems to share with an older woman who is
not his mother. Like any child I've ever known, seen outside the context
of what he's used to, this usually mischievous little boy turned into a
shy, giggly, vulnerable child.

After saying our goodbyes we finally got to Club 88. And I absolutely
hated it. It's part of a lavish casino complex that wouldn't have bothered
me at all if it were in Vegas, but here in the heart of Phnom Penh where
children sleep alone in cardboard boxes and under bridges, it sticks out
like a hideous sore thumb.

And the children know the tricks of the trade and hang about in gangs
hoping for a handout of a couple of dollars from some fat cat who'd done
well at the tables.

The DO Cambodia team stood in the lobby, our festive mood quickly
evaporating, as young, dolled-up girls hung on to fat Chinese and
western men who were making a big show of their cash. The girls giggled
with glee, but their smiles never reached their eyes.

We couldn't get out of there fast enough, and as we waded through security
guards, doormen, seedy businessmen with their dolled-up hookers, tuk-tuk
drivers and children we all hoped that we wouldn't bump into any of the
children we are working with - not a-far fetched possibility at all.

The last day of our work here is upon us.

Sigh!

Alan Montanaro

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